


the human heart its hungry gorge

by kanradiary



Series: two halves of a whole : DMC modern AU [1]
Category: Devil May Cry, DmC: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Sibling Incest, Vergil's obsession with Dante
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 12:17:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21392032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanradiary/pseuds/kanradiary
Summary: Vergil knew this game, but he was increasingly becoming tired of it. The tip of barista’s cigarette glowed for a moment before it faded away, and she crushed it under her heel.
Relationships: Dante/Vergil (Devil May Cry), Dante/Vergil (DmC)
Series: two halves of a whole : DMC modern AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554433
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	the human heart its hungry gorge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fearalrat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearalrat/gifts).

> Commission for Cabbage. Reupload for archiving purposes.

He had not seen Dante in what had to be a year by now.

The last time they met had ended in yet another fistfight, another shouting match, in the false privacy of Dante’s new apartment, paper-thin walls shaking with their voices. A neighbour had slammed on the wall on the far side of the apartment, garbled anger clear in his tone. As if Vergil’s command alone weren’t enough to bring the building crumbling down around them. As if either of them cared.

One of the bulbs in the apartment had flickered off, casting the tiny studio in the cold shadow of night. Under the yellowed gaze of the single lamp, Dante had looked like something inhuman, hair silvery and wispy with light, skin pale and translucent. It had been drizzling outside.

They had not spoken for months prior, Dante too busy making nothing of himself while Vergil worked his way up the ranks of society.

The apartment smelled of something damp and rotting, as if it hadn’t seen sunlight in the past fifty years. Stale. Stagnant. Water dripped from the tiny, grimy window into a bucket, the sound tinny and hollow. Glass bottles lined the floor along the walls and lay prone upon the kitchenette’s countertop. Vergil hated everything about this apartment, the dirt and the stench and the feeling of listlessness that permeated it, but most of all he hated Dante for living in it.

A man of his worth, living like a derelict. It was beneath him.

It was beneath Vergil too, to be here, to step into this filthy neighbourhood in search of a brother he’d never loved. He left Dante to rot in his pitiful apartment.

When he returned two weeks later, someone else was already living there.

\---

City life really didn’t suit him.

Life among the suburban rich had tempered his tastes, and Vergil found himself turning his nose up at the stench of human traffic, the acrid tang of sweat and the dense pollution that hung over it like a fog. The buildings were dirty and dank when they weren’t full of mirrors, claustrophobia-inducing in their closeness. He was glad he wouldn’t have to stay for long.

His driver weaved through the irritable city traffic, the occasional honks and beeps getting on Vergil’s nerves. Vergil did not like the city, but he would suffer through it for the sake of this meeting.

That was the difference between him and Dante, he thought: he was willing to make sacrifices. Dante was too afraid, too inert, too prone to indolence to succeed, despite his talent. This was all well and good for Vergil. He was glad for the lack of real contest. But it made his competition awfully tame.

The meeting was as dull as ever, but Vergil remained sharp throughout, even as the other board members’ minds drifted. This year had been a dry one - business was slow, but that was in part due to the shrinking economy, and the cut in the government budget for their sector. They were not to worry. Vergil counted the minutes till the end of the meeting. Above the screen, in unflinching red, the digital clock read 23:59. It was broken.

One of the faceless suited men beside him was playing street fighting games under the table - a foolish, juvenile thing to do. It reminded him, inexplicably, of Dante.

\---

His never-ending quest for more had taken Vergil to a ski resort in the Swiss Alps with a group of vapid, wealthy young women and their gaggle of equally vapid, equally wealthy young suitors. The view was breathtaking. The people were stifling. Vergil wished Dante were here, if only to have someone to strike out at.

They were at a ski resort, yet no one was going out to ski. Vergil was contemplating the possibility of slipping out of the room unnoticed when one of the ladies broke free of the crowd and approached him.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” She looked out over the patio’s edge, cold mountain air whipping through her ash-blonde hair. Her lips were painted red, her eyes a deep, bright blue set in a heart-shaped face. Her cheeks and nose were rosy with cold.

He smiled charmingly, and she smiled too.

“Not as lovely as you are, my dear.”

“You don’t happen to actually be interested in skiing, do you?”

“Not at all.”

They both slipped out of the resort after a moment, her gloved hand resting in the crook of his elbow. Outside, the air was even colder, biting at the exposed skin of his face and stealing the residual warmth from his scalp. She shivered, and he pulled her in closer, feeling uncomfortable. Dante had always burned hotter than Vergil did, especially in winter.

There was only one cafe in the resort, serving oven-warmed breakfast bagels and coffee from an espresso machine. It had a rustic, elegant feel to it, all wooden floorboards and red-cushioned chairs. A lone barista was smoking out in front.

Vergil knew this game, but he was increasingly becoming tired of it. The tip of barista’s cigarette glowed for a moment before it faded away, and she crushed it under her heel.

\---

The years had stretched on and on, and Vergil was bored. Life had treated him well; he’d spent a tolerable amount of time amongst the idle rich, enjoying the unapologetic opulence and excess that came with a lot of money and a lot of time with which to spend it, before their ways had gotten monotonous and he’d been reminded of Dante yet again.

He had finally located Dante a week ago, having been looking for him intermittently as the man vanished and resurfaced in different parts of the world. As of two months prior he was in Thailand, Bangkok, and now so was Vergil.

Vergil truly disliked city life. Bangkok was loud and humid and filled with strong, foreign smells that mixed together in a dizzying concoction. The traffic crawled; his taxi crawled along with it. Outside in the shimmering heat, people weaved to and fro, seemingly uncaring of the droves of burning metal contraptions on the road. In Bangkok the sun was scalding.

It must have been more than a year since they last met, for Dante clearly no longer lived in squalor.

When the apartment door opened Vergil was treated to the sight of a clean-shaven Dante, his expression set in the familiar disgusted neutrality that was reserved only for Vergil. Ah, he mused. How he’d missed this, the rush of adrenaline that came with looking at Dante’s incredibly punchable face.

“Dante,” he said, unable to keep the boiling excitement from his voice. “I see you are no longer useless.”

“What?” Dante gave him an ugly grin. “No kiss hello for your younger brother?”

“Here’s your kiss,” Vergil said, and punched him in the nose.

**Cruelty has a human heart,  
** **And Jealousy a human face;  
** **Terror the human form divine,  
** **And Secresy the human dress.**

**The human dress is forged iron,  
** **The human form a fiery forge,  
** **The human face a furnace sealed,  
** **The human heart its hungry gorge.**

**A Divine Image, William Blake**


End file.
